


it was all you didn't say (you had no fight)

by saturnharry



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Louis, Fluff and Smut, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Possessive Louis, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Top Harry, harry is a good egg with good egg intentions, louis is kind of an asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnharry/pseuds/saturnharry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the world will break your heart ten ways to sunday, that's guaranteed.<br/>or<br/>they're both in uni, harry's over the moon for louis, who plays footie a lot and drinks a lot and makes him laugh a lot, and louis is only ever over the moon for harry behind closed doors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it was all you didn't say (you had no fight)

The room is a fluorescent chaos of lights, the floor is throbbing to the beat of the [music](https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=video&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwiMgOXA_sDJAhVDdz4KHbMiBYQQtwIIGzAA&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dmp5YWm5VHwQ&usg=AFQjCNHWDSlW_feRIrVCGOcllqbASQ5AgQ&sig2=Yp8IOPFbyo1LHH28-5I-gQ) and in stark contrast, Harry is slumped on a couch at the outskirts, sipping absent-mindedly at an ice water. As much as he opposed the idea of joining his mates on this party conquest, he’s kind of beginning to reconsider. Believe it or not, watching piss drunk people interact is… amusing.

Harry’s never been a big drinker -- he’ll drink until he’s tipsy, and then he knows how to quit. He’s very much a lightweight because of that ( _“Harry. Mate. You’ve only had two beers and you’re tripping over all of our household assets.”_ Niall had said once. _“You don’t know me.”_ had been Harry’s response. He doesn’t remember much else about that night.) but it doesn’t matter, because he’s here now and he’s playing mum for his mates, who will inevitably get drunk as all hell, and Harry wasn’t going to be the one to call the police and file a missing persons report for both of them if they didn’t return. He also wasn’t going to make funeral arrangements if they happen to do something colorful (Niall in specific. But he’s not naming names.)

Harry snorts to himself over the rim of his water as a busty girl slips on the hardwood floor and collapses, taking down the two men that had been wooing her in the process. It’s kind of beautiful, he thinks.

And then he’s suddenly being bumped into by someone who reeks of familiarity and alcohol. It’s the irishman himself, equipped with two red cups of alcohol, one half empty and the other full to the brim, leaking over Harry’s black skinny jeans. “Aye, Harry!” He grins, flopping into the seat across from him and slamming both of the cups down on the coffee table. Alcohol splashes all over the poor table, and Harry briefly sympathizes it as Niall laments about one thing or the other.

“You know where Liam went? Last time I saw ‘im he was--” Suddenly a laugh bubbles out of Niall, and he doesn’t stop. Harry’s expression furrows, glancing around as if to see what’s so funny. “he was playing spin the bottle with part of the footie team and some girls, kissed one of ‘em, reckon he’s upstairs shagging her, probably, maybe. Should I check? To see if he’s ok?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Harry tells him, lips twitching, as if holding back a smile.

“Want this?” The other boy asks, nudging the full cup toward Harry, and he opens his mouth to refuse but Niall’s already babbling again in slurred phrases, “y’know, how long has it been since you’ve had a shag, Haz? You should have one. A shag.” Then he beams at Harry, and he’s so absolutely fucked that Harry doesn’t have the heart to refuse the drink he’s still holding out, so he takes it and downs a little bit of it, considering.

Harry puffs out a sigh. “Too long.”

There’s a couple falling onto the couch cushions beside him, snogging eachother’s faces off, and that’s probably his cue to get going. “C’mon, please. You’ve been kind of a twat lately. It’s a symptom of blue balls, I’m sure.” Niall drones on, intently downing the rest of his drink as he keeps a keen eye on the couple making out. When he’s finished with it, he crushes the cup with two hands and tosses it at the two of them. It hits the girl on the head and she squeaks.

“Yeah, alright, alright,” Harry begins to get up, finishing the rest of his drink and cringing along the way. It stings the back of his throat, and what was even in that mixture, anyway? He licks his lips, deserts the thought and jumps a little when Niall smacks him on the bum.

“Do me good, Harry. I’ll be expecting a play-by-play when ya return.” He tells him, and his accent is so thick when he’s drunk that, had Harry not known him this long, he wouldn’t have been able to comprehend it. But he could decidedly understand what Niall’s saying if he were buried ten feet underground by this point. So.

Harry shoulders his way through throngs of people, steps over a splotch of vomit on the floor and even dodges a flying bra on his Journey To Find Something Or Someone To Do. There are a few familiar faces that greet him every so often, and by the time he’s made it to the other side of the house he’s at Nick Grimshaw’s flank, grinning stupidly at the jokes he makes.

Nick is like -- he’s witty. He’s the kind of witty that renders Harry unable to control his (quite embarrassing) laughter, and he’s the kind of witty that makes Harry fond over him and probably even acquire sparkling anime eyes and a blush whenever he’s in the room. He met the older bloke a little ways into uni, when a friend of his had let him tag along to the campus’s hidden indie radio cave. The place had been paradise for Harry at first, because he’s always considered himself hipster with both his penchant for alternative music and careless clothing habits. Nick and his insufferable charm had only been a bonus.

“Ah, my favorite little bugger has finally decided to make an appearance, has he?” Nick says, pulling Harry to his chest within seconds of seeing him. “Hope you’ve been staying safe tonight. No glove no love, don’t do drugs, alcohol makes your dick shrink, remember it all.”

Eventually he worms out of Nick’s deadly grip, manages to huff out a laugh before he’s fixing his quiffed curls. “I’ve it written all down, Nick, no worries. Your sinless influence has shaped me into a better man.”

“Glad to hear. Precious cargo like you wouldn’t survive long without my guidance. And anyway, who’re you here with, baby Harry?” He asks, stepping out an opened slider door and tugging Harry along with him. Once they’re outside, crisp night air biting at their exposed skin, Nick fishes out a cigarette and takes a drag of it.

“Ehm, with Liam and Niall. I’m playing chaperone, actually.”

Nick pulls his cigarette out with an incredulous look. “This is a party, babe, and you’re supposed to be doing party things. Have you even had a drink?” He looks him over, as if assessing if he’s ill. Or stupid. Or both. “Nevermind that,” he shakes his head, shoving the cigarette toward Harry. “Take a hit, you’re all uptight and shit. And _sober._ It’s terrifying.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry takes the cigarette from him and does as he says, coughs racking his system after only the first hit. It’s -- it’s not a normal cigarette, jesus. Harry might really need some of Nick’s guidance at this point. “I think I need a drink,” he says, voice a tad raspier.

Nick strokes circles around his back, and when Harry finally looks at him fully, he notices the inebriated glaze over his eyes. “ _Christ_ ,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I haven’t gotten dicked in days, Harry. _Days._ Reckon you should bumble away before I attack you, or something. You’re too pretty to be around, so we can talk when I’m sober and myself.”

Harry absolutely doesn’t mean to, but he blushes, because he’s known that Nick is gay, has known ever since he’d met him, yet he hardly ever made remarks like that about Harry. And, like, sue him if he’s glowing a bit right now -- he’s being complemented by Nick, the widely desirable and very much single gay sex god. There’s something really nice about that, and he can’t quite pinpoint what it is, but he doesn’t spend time thinking about it. He nods mildly, waves, fucking _waves_ like an idiot to a bloke who’s standing two feet away from him, and then sets off for the frat house again.

Everything is essentially the same when he returns. Well, except for one of those pre-teen hormonal games that is now taking place on the living room floor. Niall is wedged right in the middle of it, waving around a hand while he talks over everybody, “Oi! We ready to start, then?” He’s asking, before he catches Harry’s eye and shoots up, dragging him into the poorly-formed circle of drunk footie and lax players, cheerleaders, and people that Harry doesn’t even recognize. It’s more like an octagon, though, and there are definitely more lads in it, which is kind of unnerving, but he doesn’t have much room to ask Niall anything because they’re already starting.

“Shuttup! Alright, we’re playin’ Never Have I Ever.” He tells everyone as they quiet down. There’s still music playing quite loudly, and there’s the droning of conversation and occasional laugh that comes from everyone not playing the game, but Niall’s voice isn’t easy to miss. A girl’s passing cups around, pouring tequila into each one and making sure each person in the circle has one. There are about ten people playing.

“I’ll go first,” Niall begins, squinting a little before he says, “Never have I ever had a threesome.”

And wow, that’s. That’s a way to start. Harry’s gaze travels the circle, seeing about everyone drink except for about three other people and himself. There’s a snicker from some lad after he takes a huge gulp, maintaining eye contact with Harry. He flushes and thinks that the guy looks familiar, but he can’t quite put a name to the face, much less when he’s being stared at by him.

“Never have I ever been in handcuffs,” comes a deep voice from beside Niall, taking a swig along with about four other people, Niall included, as well as the bloke that is still staring at him.

He shifts uneasily, wondering if he should ditch the game and go search for Liam, but he should probably wait for the proper opportunity to leave, rather than in the middle of all of this.

“I uh.. I’m not very good at this--” he murmurs in Niall’s ear, and then earns a laugh in response.

“Yeah, you really aren’t,” he agrees, which Harry pointedly pouts at, and then, “don’t leave, though. ‘S not even gotten to the good part yet.”

“And what’s the good part?”

“When everyone’s pissed,” Niall whispers loudly, then jerks up as someone across the circle throws a little football at him, surprisingly catching it.

“Oh, right.” Harry sinks backward, leaning more into the couch behind him as another never have I ever is mentioned that -- yes, wow, shocking -- he hasn’t done, and then--

“Never have I ever kissed the opposite sex.”

Oh.

Harry wants to shrink, kind of. He wants to curl up into a ball like a rollie polie, roll away and hide under a rock or summat, because this is a question that is particularly intriguing while at the same time making him shift uneasily. People around him begin to snicker, very few taking a drink, and Harry tries to be as discreet as possible when he brings the cup to his mouth and does the same. Niall looks at him knowingly, a smug grin on his face, and Harry avoids his gaze. That same bloke across the circle catches his eye and then looks quickly away, mumbling something to the guy beside him, and they both look over at Harry.

He tries not to think about what that might mean but it’s quite difficult. He knows that there aren’t many people that advocate homosexuality aside from Nick Grimshaw’s case, because-- because he’s Nick Grimshaw, and gay or not, everyone loves him to bits. Harry doesn’t consider himself popular enough to measure up to that level. He doesn’t think he’s gay, but…

“Never have I ever been naked in public.”

Harry can’t help but smile a little as he takes another long swig, a sting left in the tracks of the tequila. The other guy’s mouth opens as he watches Harry, as if appalled by it, and he flashes a grin back at him.

“Who is that?” He leans over and asks Niall, pointing not-so-subtly at The Guy.

“With the black shirt?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Tommooooo._ ” Niall slurs loudly, waving maniacally at ‘Tommo’ as Harry contemplates where he should begin to dig his grave.

“Shhh, bloody idiot. I don’t-- don’t say anything to him, just. He keeps looking over here.”

“That’s Louis Tomlinson, you don’t know him? He’s like, famous and stuff. Footie captain, everyone’s idol.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I knew him. He looks familiar, though.” Harry can’t help but continue to watch Louis, sucking in a breath once they make eye contact again. He quickly turns back to Niall, chewing on his lower lip. “Why d’you think he’s staring?”

“Prob’ly ‘cause you’re such a life virgin.”

“A life virgin?”

“Y’know, like, you haven’t done shit, and shit. Do you know what a vagina is?”

“Oh, piss off,” Harry says, shoving him, “Contrary to popular belief, Niall, I’ve been out of the womb for quite some time. 19 years, actually.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

They finally begin to pay mind to the game once again, and they’ve probably missed a good five rounds or so of it. Everyone is not so gradually beginning to get a little more obnoxious, a little less aware of their consciences.

“Never have I ever fancied a boy.” Louis Tomlinson suddenly says, fixing a look right at Harry, who can tell he’s trying to hold back a smile.

Harry clenches his jaw, throws his head back and chugs down the last of his drink (and it fucking stings, but he tries to keep his dignity in tact and toughens it out.) Then he spares Niall a last glance before he’s climbing to his feet, avoiding the questioning glances of some of the somewhat sober people playing the game, and trying to make it over the drunk human hurdles that seem confused about him leaving. A blonde girl he remembers from one of his classes -- he can’t really place her name, but thinks it’s something that starts with a T -- grabs onto his leg and uses it to pull herself up. Niall sends him a sympathetic glance, to which he shakes his head to, as if to say don’t.

“Hello Harryyy,” she sings, and Harry isn’t sure whether its the drag in her usually very steady voice or the alcohol he’s had in all of one gulp that makes his stomach churn, or maybe both. But it’s most likely the way Louis Tomlinson was looking at him, as if this all was a joke, and his sexual preferences made for a good laugh.

He smiles tightly at her, supporting her as she almost falls over and guiding her out of the living room. He swears he hears the words faggot muttered behind him, but it’s probably just his imagination.

It’s kind of a long journey, what with her stumbling, uncoordinated steps and even Harry’s, which could even be considered worse (and he’s not nearly as drunk as her, but. He’s as coordinated sober as anyone is drunk. Being pigeon-toed and very tall has its downfalls.)

“You should, like -- sit here,” he tells her, settling her on a stool as the kitchen’s little bar. She grins and sits her head on a hand, elbow against the counter, while he searches for the cupboard that houses the cups and glasses.

He finds it eventually, fills it up with tap water and hands it to her, along with a few ibuprofen from the stash he had in his pocket. It was a precautionary measure taken for Niall and Liam, he’d read online that hydrating before bed and taking some painkillers would lessen the wrath of a hangover, so.

After that, he sets off to find Liam, climbing the stairway and winding through the halls upstairs, checking rooms to see if Liam is in any of them.

He knocks on one, hears nothing, and then opens it up a crack, peaking in. There’s two forms curled up on the bed, and Harry recognizes one of them as Liam and slips quietly in, nudging him awake. “Mate, you good?”

Liam murmurs something inaudible, rubs his eyes and looks over to the half-dressed girl beside him with wide eyes. “Oh. _Oh_. I uh-- yeah. ‘M good.”

“Alright, well like, I’m gonna head back to my place soon, so…”

“Oi, I’ll come with, then, and stay the night at yours, if that’s alright?” Surprisingly Liam seems pretty sober, the familiar puppy look in his eyes giving him away.

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and meet me downstairs when you’re…” He pauses, grins like a frog at the girl slumped beside him, still sound asleep, “ready.”

Liam flushes and rolls his eyes, and Harry heads out and navigates the bathroom. He’s been desperate for a wee for quite some time now.

He finally finds it and shoves through, only to mutter an apology when he sees someone’s feet, looking up at them and feeling his heart freeze for a moment. “Eh, I’ll--” he fumbles for the doorknob to pull it closed but Louis gets in the way, shoving the door open further. He’s wiping water off of his face with a sleeve of his jumper, then saying, “You’re fine. I was just leaving.”

“You.. sure?” Harry hears himself ask.

“Yep,” Louis says, gripping the sink to steady himself as he gives Harry a once over, “hey… you’re that one bloke, right? In the circle.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“The gay one, I reckon?” He grins maliciously, and Harry shakes his head.

“Not gay.”

“Right.”

“Mind getting out, so I can use the loo?” Harry asks, voice a little firmer.

“Of course, yes. You know, you’re quite cute for someone with curly hair and all. Your fashion sense could use a little help, but--”

“For someone with curly hair?” Harry scoffs at the smaller boy, mildly offended, but then, “hold on -- I’m cute, am I?”

“A little, but I’m not gay.” Louis replies, louder than necessary, and ruffles his hair around for a while before he realizes what he’s done. “Long live the quiff.” He sighs wistfully, arm dropping to his side.

Harry goes up to the mirror, trying as quickly as possible to reassemble it, frowning a little. “Look what you’ve done.”

“Sorry,” Louis says, sounding not very sorry at all. “it looks good either way though. Like, if that means anything. I hope it does, because I’m quite a dishonest person, and that was honest, which is very important and almost unheard of, you know.”

Harry smiles involuntarily, and he’s finally figured it out, hair sorted just like it was before. “I guess--”

Louis suddenly gasps like he’s just thought of the most amazing thing, grabs Harry by the arm and drags him out and into the hall again, sentence left unfinished. He leads Harry aimlessly around, even ends up going the wrong way once or twice and at long last, they’re entering another room. This one’s got posters of footie players around the walls, a pizza box on the dresser and clothes littered all around. Louis weaves through the maze of things, Harry still at his heels, and then budges open the window. It’s even colder than when he’d been outside with Nick, but he doesn’t have much a choice before Louis is climbing out onto the roof with the larger boy in tow.

The moon’s waned higher in the sky by now, and Harry decides that its probably a little after midnight. He watches Louis as he lets go and climbs further up the roof with practiced ease, which, quite frankly, scares the living shit out of Harry. He’s smashed, obviously, and smashed people and climbing roofs don’t sit well together by any means.

“You… you shouldn’t be out here,” he tries, on his hands and knees as he very carefully and very slowly inches up the roof after him. Christ, if Harry wasn’t so tipsy he’d probably have the right mind to like, do something about this. But Louis has twice the amount of grace and climbs like a fucking monkey, and it’s really not fair at all.

“Oh, but then I wouldn’t be able to see the moon and all of his friends! The stars, you know? There’s so many, and I felt it important to say hello to them all,” Louis hiccups, lying on his back as he nears the top. Harry definitely isn’t endeared by it. Not a bit.

He’s unable to stop grinning though, and he finds himself moving faster as he ascends the shingles, eventually flopping down beside the other lad. They’ve only met half a heartbeat ago, but Harry feels like Louis might be alright (although he’s still grudging about being laughed at earlier, during the game.)

“Look at all of them,” Louis speaks up, blinking up at the sky. Harry hadn’t even realized he’d been staring at him until he said something, and with a grunt, he turns his head to take in the canvas of light above them. It -- _wow._

“Pretty.” He drawls.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Have you done this before?”

“Sweet Curly, you’re endearing. Of course I’ve done this before. It wouldn’t be so wise to get hammered and then climb a mountain for the first time, now would it?” He says, and Harry feels a little stupid. He barks out a laugh anyway.

“Yeah, I reckon so,” he responds quietly, rubbing his eyes tiredly with balled fists. He hears Louis shift, and then he feels him scoot closer, pressed up against him. What happens next Harry isn’t sure even happens. He’s probably imagining it.

“It’s fucking freezing out here, innit?” Louis whispers, breath hot against his ear, and the smallest noise comes out of Harry’s throat as he feels arms wrapping around his torso and the boy nuzzling up against him. Harry eventually sinks into the touch, naturally goes to wrap his own arm around him when there’s a series of noises from below.

 _“Tommo!”_ comes a throaty shout, way nearer than he’d thought. There’s someone climbing out the window and looking up at them, and Harry barely has time to open his mouth before he’s being shoved away frantically. He stumbles onto his side and just manages to catch himself enough not to roll down the roof.

Louis is standing now, descending the roof with hasty, unbalanced steps and when Harry meets his eye, he doesn’t see the expression that was there only a matter of minutes ago. “Twat followed me up here,” he mutters to the other guy, who’s looking skeptically at Harry and then snickering.

“Oi, is that the fag from earlier?” He pipes up, looking particularly amused as he passes a look Louis’s way.

“In the flesh, Calum, in the flesh,” Louis looks back at Harry with a chilling smile, and Harry can’t help but feel like he’s going to throw up.

“Didn’t try to suck your cock, did he?”

“Tried to kiss me. I threatened to stuff him into the chimney, though. I think he’s tamed for now.”

“Well on, mate. Anyway, get in here, yeah? We’ve been looking for you,” Calum says, gesturing for Louis to follow as he shoots a last look up at Harry and then heads back inside. Harry swallows the lump in his throat as Louis smiles to him one last time, and as he ducks through the window and Harry is left alone, he can’t help but hope that he won’t remember any of this in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaa thank you soso much if you've made it this far. this is the first time ive posted a fanfic, hope it's okay! feedback means the world, and the next chapter should be up soon if people like this !! x


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